Kitten has Claws
by BabsGordon95
Summary: Aza has been a ward of the Starks since she was six years old. She never fit in with the proper ladies like Sansa. Instead Arya and Jon, the other outsiders, were her closest companions. She couldn't believe the disaster left in the wake of the King's visit. With Bran comatose and her only family splitting up, Aza must come to the responsibilities laid before her. OC rated T 4 lang
1. King's Arrival

Aza watched as the King's procession marched through the front gates. There may have been over a hundred of them in the party, all dressed in glamour, but Aza didn't care. Her only wish was to sneak back to the woods and practice her archery in peace. None of this fanfare interested her.

Out the corner of her eye, Aza noticed Arya's late entrance and Aza couldn't help but smile as Ned Stark pulled the helmet off of her head. Arya was most definitely a miniature Aza. She also didn't care for all this fanfare. It was nice to know Aza wasn't alone in her beliefs.

In fact, Aza was quite proud of Arya. She was a natural talent with the bow, and was even beating poor Brandon. Bran was pushed by this, though, he told Aza so. Bran also told Aza of how he wants to someday join the Kingsguard. Aza made sure that that his brothers were encouraging and not tortuous in order to give Bran the confidence he needs.

Aza was so lost in her thoughts she had missed the fat King struggle off his horse and waddle over to approach Ned. Ned tried to formality, but King Robert greeted him like an old friend, pulling him into a hug after insulting Ned on his non-existent weight gain.

Everyone knew the story of Robert's Rebellion, truly all started because of the King's love for Lady Lyanna.

Foolish, if you asked Aza. Even at her young age of seventeen, Aza knew love had no place in the political theatre. Some say that Stark should have taken the thrown instead. Looking at the King now, Aza couldn't help but agree.

"Take me to your crypt," King Robert ordered. "I want to pay my respects."

"We've been riding for a month," the Queen said. "The dead can wait."

King Robert ignored his wife and looked to his host. "Ned." Without another word, the King left towards the crypt and Ned dutifully followed.

Arya, who always speaks her mind, asked, quite loudly, "Where's the Imp?"

Sansa shushed Arya for the hundredth time.

Catelyn showed the Queen to her chambers and they were all finally able to breathe again.

Arya hopped up to Aza. "Do you know where the Imp is?"

"Of course not," Aza answered. She knelt down and whispered, "Why don't we sneak off to the woods and get some practice in, hmm?" Arya nodded enthusiastically. "I'll meet you there in five minutes."

Arya ran off to get her bow, the usual spring in her step apparent even more so.

"You can't be gone too long," someone said behind Aza.

She smiled, "Don't worry; we'll make it back in time for the feast, Robb." She turned to face him.

"I doubt it," Robb answered. "When you two are together, you can be gone for hours at a time."

"That's the joy in it." Aza noticed Bran over Robb's shoulder. "Excuse me, I'll see you tonight at the feast." She gave Robb a soft kiss on the cheek, whispering, "I prefer the beard."

Robb laughed as he walked away.

"Hello, Bran," Aza greeted when she reached Bran. Kneeling, she said, "I heard you saw your first execution today."

"Yes, I did," Bran sighed.

"Did you look away?"

Bran shook his head.

Aza nodded. "Good. It's nasty business, but it happens. You particularly need to get used to it. When you're a part of the Kingsguard, you'll be seeing a lot of that."

Bran smiled. Aza especially loved that smile.

"Now, go on. Don't get too dirty before the feast tonight."

Aza went to the archery housing and grabbed her special bow that Robb had given her for her fifteenth name-day. It was her favorite and it knew her grip well.

"Arya?" Aza called when she arrived at their usual meeting place by the great willow tree. "Arya, where are you?"

_Whoosh! Thump!_

An arrow wobbled in the trunk's bark just a few inches from Aza's head.

"Yes!" Arya cheered from up the small hill.

"Arya!" Aza pulls the arrow out of the tree, and then threw it away when she saw that the arrowhead was ruined. "What was that?"

"A brilliant shot, that's what." Arya ran down the hill and met her with a bright smile.

"Shots like that may seem fun, but if you were off by just a few inches, you could have hit me," Aza scolded. Arya hung her head, realizing her mistake.

Aza sighed. Scolding the girl who was like a little sister was hard, but sometimes it needed to be done.

"But it truly was a good shot."

Like a rabbit popping up out of its hole, Arya's head bounced up, that familiar, mischievous smile was back.

Aza laughed. "Now let's get to it."

For the next few hours, the two of them shot arrow after arrow. Joy and excitement filled Aza. She was never more at home than when she was in the woods, the wild.

"Lady Aza! Lady Arya!"

The booming voice echoed through the trees. Jory, the Captain of the guards, appeared, his breathing heavy and rushed.

"Jory, what is it?" Aza asked.

"It is getting closer to the feast, and Lady Stark requests that you and Lady Arya get ready now," Jory said.

Arya's face twisted into a grimace. Rolling her eyes, Aza collected the bows and quivers and nudged Arya forward.

"Lady Sansa requests your presence, Lady Aza," Jory added.

Aza and Arya exchanged a knowing glance.

When Aza knocked on Sansa's door Catelyn was the one who answered.

"Come in, Aza."

Sansa's room was warm as Aza stepped in. The walls were covered in draperies and fabric. The room screamed that its owner was very proper and very girly. Sometimes Aza hated how proper Sansa was, never allowing room to laugh and play. Sansa was truly southern, through and through; even more so than her mother.

"Sit down, Aza," Sansa commanded. "Mother has something she wants to tell us."

Aza did as she was asked. "What is the news?" Catelyn went back to brushing Sansa's hair.

"King Robert has offered a marriage between Sansa and Prince Joffrey," Catelyn said. Not much enthusiasm was in her face.

On the contrary, Sansa's face lit up like a midnight fire. "Oh, truly?"

"Yes," Catelyn nodded.

"Why did you want me to know?" Aza didn't understand why Catelyn wanted her here.

"I was thinking a double wedding."

Aza's breath hitched. So the time had come.

"Oh, what an idea, Lady Catelyn." Aza forced a smile.

"Do you think Joffrey will like me?" Sansa asked, the focus back to her, just as she liked it. Poor Sansa, she was starry-eyed already. Then her mood changed. "What if he thinks I'm ugly?"

"Then he is the stupidest prince that ever lived," Catelyn reassured her.

Aza was forced to agree. Sansa may have been spoiled, but she was a beauty, the spitting image of her mother. There wasn't an ounce of Stark in her face.

"He's so handsome," Sansa mused.

This was something Aza didn't agree with. Personally, she thought the snobbish look that Joffrey constantly wore turned his face ugly, but Aza kept quiet.

"When will we be married?" Sansa continued. "Soon? Or will we have to wait?"

"Hush now!" Catelyn said suddenly, even causing Aza to jump. "Your father hasn't even said yes."

And that's when Aza decided that she had had enough. "Excuse me, Lady Stark. I had best go and get ready for the feast myself." Aza stood up.

Catelyn nodded. "Of course, Aza. See you at the feast."

Aza curtsied and exited.


	2. The Feast

Now that she was out of the eyes of ladies, Aza gathered up her skirts in her hands and started running, every step a leap, through the halls. She glanced behind her for a second to make sure no one was watching her when she slammed into an innocent bystander.

"I am so sorry," Aza said as she looked up at who she ran into. Her breath hitched. "Jon."

Jon Snow. Ned Starks's bastard son and Aza's closest friend.

"Lucky it was me you ran into," Jon smiled. "Wouldn't want people to know you're only a lady when the eyes are watching, would you?"

Aza punched Jon hard in the shoulder.

"Ow! You're getting better at that."

Aza returned his grin. "I had a good teacher."

Jon laughed. Oh, how Aza loved his laugh.

There were things that she wanted to say, but there was too much risk involved.

"I must go get ready," Aza sighed instead. She passed him and then turned to say, "Will I see you at the feast?"

"I'm not sure yet," he answered. "Lady Stark hasn't made her decision."

Both of them knew what the decision would be. That broke Aza's heart.

She continued on her way to her bedchamber. Once inside, she shed her casual, hard-wear dress for a livelier one of dark green silk with silver trimmings. Just as Aza clasped her locked on her neck, a knock came at the door. She answered to find Robb standing in the doorway.

"Hello, Robb," Aza said softly, giving him a smile.

"Aza," he bowed. "I am to escort you to the feast."

"Is that really a surprise?" Aza entertained. "I would be honored, Robb."

It seemed to Aza that she had been with the Starks for a very long time. And indeed, she had been living under their roof for eleven years now. But she hadn't been sent here by her father just to learn how to be a lady since her mother had passed.

The other reason was Aza's father, Lord Carryse, had hoped for a union between Aza and Robb. And now it seemed his wish would be coming true. In her time here, the wedding had gone from a small possibility to a confirmed reality. Aza had come to adore Robb, perhaps she even loved him, but if she was honest with herself, it wasn't what– or, really, who– Aza truly wanted.

She shook the thought out her head. It just wasn't possible, she had accepted that. So she entered the dining hall on Robb's arm, a smile placed on her lips. Aza walked in the parade of Starks and took her seat between Robb and Theon. She craned her neck, looking for Jon, but she knew he wouldn't be there. Still, hope seemed to pull at her heart.

The feast bored Aza. As the night went on, the men grew louder and the women grew gossipier.

Aza tried to remain cheerful, however. She kept conversation with Robb, and occasionally Theon, who she only liked on special days. Theon saw women as conquest or playthings, nothing more, and that surely grated Aza's nerves.

Robb leaned towards Aza and whispered, "I overheard my parents discussing the arrangements if my father accepts the King's offer to be the new Hand of the King."

"He asked your father to be the new Hand of the King?" Aza said somewhat loudly.

"Shhhh," Robb chuckled. "Yes, he did."

"Oh, Gods." Aza scrunched her eyebrows. "What arrangements would be made?"

"Bran, Sansa and Arya will go south with my father. Rickon and I will stay behind."

"No, they can't do that!" Robb placed his hand on Aza's to try and comfort her. It didn't work. "Sansa will fit in more than fine, but Arya doesn't belong there in the south. She needs space, room to breathe. She won't be allowed to be herself down there. Those women are proud and vain. They'll look down on her, even those who are below her. Can't she stay here?"

Robb shook his head. "It's already settled. Mother believes that King's Landing will teach Arya how to be ladylike."

"Nothing could teach Arya to be 'ladylike.' She is her own person. No one can change that."

If she was to be honest, Aza didn't want Arya to leave because she didn't want Arya to leave _her_. Arya was the one person who really understood Aza's love for the woods.

Sansa squealed with a sound that filled the hall. It seemed Arya had thrown a piece of meat towards her sister.

Catelyn caught Robb's gaze from across the room. Looking sideways at Aza, Robb stood up and took Arya by her underarms and escorted her out of the dining hall, saying it was time for bed.

Aza sat there in silence for a few minutes until Theon leaned in close to her.

"It seems you are not getting the attention you deserve, Lady Aza." His breath made Aza gag as it stunk of wine and other, stronger, alcohols. Theon ran his fingers along her upper arm. "Did you know that candlelight brightens the dark red in your hair?"

Aza snatched her arm away, standing up. "Why don't you reserve your attentions for your whores at the local brothel? For they are not welcome here."

The men around them laughed at Theon's redding face, but Aza did not stay to relish in his embarrassment.

Once outside, Aza followed the sounds of grunting and the thumping of metal against wood. Quickly, Aza discovered the source of the sounds was Jon.

"I looked for you at the feast," Aza told him.

Jon huffed and threw his sword to the ground. "Lady Catelyn–"

"I know." Aza didn't need to be told. She knew along. There was a silence between them that Aza wanted to fill. "Robb told me that Bran, Sansa, and Arya are to go south to King's Landing with your father if he accepts the position of Hand of the King. It will only be you, Robb, and little Rickon to keep me company."

Jon sighed. "Aza, I'm going north. To the Wall."

"Just to visit, of course," Aza said with just a little bit of hope.

"I intend to take the Oath, Aza," Jon said, confirming Aza's worst fear.

"Jon–"

"It's the only place for me. The only place where I can be more than just a bastard."

"You've always been more than–" Aza could never bring herself to call Jon that awful word, although everyone else around her used it far too often, "than that. You don't need to run away."

Jon reached out and touched his fingertips to her cheek. "Aza. Aza, I–"

He withdrew his hand, biting on the words she so wanted to hear. He bowed, "Good night, Lady Aza." Without another word, Aza watched as he walked away.

"How touching."

Aza gasped and spun around.

Lord Tyrion Lannister had seen their exchange. Seems the Imp decided to show up after all.

"Pray, forgive me, Lord Tyrion, but it is none of your business," Aza snapped.

"I won't say anything to anyone," Lord Tyrion said.

"I suppose now you have great leverage against me, Lord Tyrion," she guessed.

Lord Tyrion shook his head. "No, I truly won't say anything."

"Why?" Aza asked harshly.

"Because you've only addressed me as 'Lord Tyrion', and not 'the Imp.'" Lord Tyrion smiled. "I always remember those who treat me with kindness, even when they think I don't deserve it."

Aza swallowed. "I don't treat people badly because of circumstances that are out of their control. I treat them with respect until they give me a reason not to."

"A very wise statement." Before walking away, he added, "A piece of advice: you seem like a fighter, so fight for what you want."

As soon as Lord Tyrion was gone, Aza ran. She kept going until she reached her room. Slamming the door behind her, Aza leaned her back against the door and slid down to the floor. And then, she did what she hadn't done since her mother's funeral.

She cried.


	3. Goodbyes

She couldn't believe it. She wouldn't. Not Bran.

Aza had been in the stables brushing her horse when Jory came to tell her the shocking news. Everyone else already knew and Aza was the last to be informed. With no time to spare, she had left Jory to put away Anya, her black horse, while she ran inside the castle. She needed to see him for herself.

Aza flew down the hallways towards Bran's room. A whole of servants were waiting outside the door.

"Move!" Aza ordered. A few of the servants actually listened, creating a path to the door. A hand stopped her just before she could get her hand on the handle. She spun around to yell at the one who dared stop her.

It was Robb. He had grabbed her wrist and wasn't releasing his grip.

"Let me go, Robb!" Aza yelled. "I have to see him! Let me go!"

"I can't let you go in, Aza," Robb said, his voice catching as he tried to stop the tears. "Only Maester Luwin and my parents are allowed in."

As much as she wanted to fight, Aza knew it was useless. She would never get in.

"Please, just tell me he's not going to die. Tell me he's going to live."

"He's alive," Robb sighed. "Unconscious, but alive. Maester Luwin doesn't know when he'll wake up. Or, if he'll even wake up."

Aza broke. Bran couldn't die, not like this. He had so many dreams, so many ambitions. The tears would not stop rolling down her face. A hand grabbed hers and gently tugged her down the hallway and around the corner, out of the prying eyes of the servants.

The hand was joined by another and together they pulled Aza in to their owner's chest. A voice "shushed" into her ear.

Aza pulled away, ready to thank Robb for his comfort. But, in fact, her comforter was–

"Jon."

Jon tipped her chin up towards his face. "Bran will be all right," he whispered. "He will live. I know it."

Aza jerked her chin out of Jon's hand and buried her face deep into his chest. "He can't die. You're leaving me. He can't leave me too."

It's been two weeks and Bran was still deep in his comatose state. Maester Luwin believed that Bran would live, but he still had not clue as to when Bran would wake up. Aza waited every day for the glorious news that was awake and could tell everyone what happened, how he, the master climber, had slipped. However, every morning Aza was forced to discover that Bran's condition had not changed for the better, or at all, in the course of the night.

He looked so small and helpless when Aza had brought him another quilt to keep his body warm.

"Winter is certainly coming," Aza whispered under her breath as she made her way down the hall to Arya's room. Winter was not just a season to the Starks. No, it was also all the trouble and foreboding that came after all the good.

Today was the day. Everyone was finally leaving her. Aza felt as if she was being pulled in three different directions. Part of her heart was being stolen south, one was running away to the north and the last part was lying in that bed.

Septa Mordane marched out of Arya's room in a fit of anger.

"Lady Aza!" she called when she had spotted Aza. "Perhaps _you_ could educate Lady Arya how a proper lady should pack her belongings."

"Of course, Septa Mordane." Aza had no intention of doing so. A lady should be able to pack her things as she sees fit. They are, after all, _her_ things. But pretending to agree with Septa Mordan got her out of the area faster. The plan worked as Septa Mordane curtsied and made her way to Sansa's room to check her suitcases, which Aza was sure were packed to perfection.

"Arya?" Aza knocked on her door. "It's me, Aza."

The door flew open and Arya slammed into Aza, throwing her arms around Aza's waist. Together they shuffled back into the bedchamber as Aza closed the door behind them.

"I don't want to go!" Arya cried.

Aza patter her head, "I don't want you to go either, but you must."

Arya pulled away and plopped down on her bed, crossing her arms. "I want to stay here with you! Practice my archery and ride my horse. Learn how not to be a lady with you!"

"Your father needs you, now more than ever."

"And I need you!" Arya countered. "If I can't stay than will you come with me?"

Aza bit down on her bottom lip and sat next to her little sister, pulling her close. "I'm sorry, but I have to stay here. Some needs to watch over Robb and Rickon while your mother watches over Bran. There is no place for me in King's Landing."

"They'll try to change me there. They'll try to make me like Sansa. That's all I can be, since I'm a girl." Tears swelled up in Arya's eyes.

Aza slid off the bed and crouched down in front of Arya. "That is not true. Never change who you are because everyone wants you to someone else." Aza grabbed her hands. "You don't have to be a lady, Arya. I've heard stories of a woman who can fight better than any man."

"Even Jaime Lannister?" Arya asked, her mood climbing ever so slightly.

"Even Jaime Lannister. She's knight who rides as a bannerman for Lord Renly. She fights in tournaments and fights in battles. She's everything that I hope you become someday. So, you see, you can be yourself, Arya. You may not be the first, but you make sure that she isn't the last."Aza stood up, held her chin high, and said, "Now, what is a _real_ lady?"

Arya stood and mimicked Aza's stance. "A real lady is brave, cunning, strong, and never lets a man know that she could cut him down in stroke – instead, she shows him."

Aza kissed her forehead, "Good girl. Now finish packing however you want to. We will see each other again, Arya, I promise. You just might be a knight when we do."

Down in the courtyard, Aza walked through the horses and carriages being prepared for their long journeys. Even with various Starks leaving Winterfell, Aza was glad for the departures. She preferred the castle quite. It was easier to think.

Before the crowds were gone, however, she wanted to give one last goodbye. She surveyed the crowds, but couldn't find the object of her search.

Finally, Aza found her chance when she saw Jon walk into the saddle storage. She slipped in behind him, hoping no one saw.

Jon was kneeling on the ground and scrubbing dirt off of his black, fur-trimmed saddle, his back turned towards her.

"Jon."

His brushing stopped. Without turning around, Jon said, "If this is your last attempt to try and convince me not to go, save your breath."

"I'm not going to try and change your mind. I already know that it's useless. I just came to say goodbye."

Jon finally stood up and face Aza. "Strange place to say goodbye."

"I wanted to say goodbye without all the formality and watching eyes."

Jon seemed to know where Aza's words were going. "Some things are better left unsaid. For the sake of the one who says it and the one who hears it."

Tears started to form in Aza's eyes. "I wish things were different. I wish that–" She couldn't bring herself to say it. Instead, a tear escaped and fell slowly down her cheek.

Jon reached out and wiped the tear away with his fingertips. He kept his hand resting on her cheek.

"Wishing for things to be different doesn't do any good," Jon whispered.

"But it can ease the pain, bring a glimmer of hope," Aza countered. "Jon, I l–"

"Shhh…."

Aza grabbed his hand and pushed it away for her face, keeping it in her grasp. "No, Jon. Let me say it, please. I'll never have another chance." She pulled the glove off of Jon's hand and warms his fingers with her lips. Then she looked him in the eye and said the most doomed words ever spoken. "I love you, Jon Snow."

Jon took Aza's face in his hands. "And I love you, Aza of House Carryse. Which is why I must leave. I can't stand by and watch you marry Robb when I could never have you for myself."

And with those words finally given freedom, he kissed her lips, softly at first, and then rougher as their desperation grew.

Aza pulled back, just a hair, and breathlessly pleaded, "Run away with me."

"I can't. We've made promises that we can't break now."

Aza sighed, knowing Jon was right. So she pressed her lips to his one last time before Jon finally gained the strength to stop. He grabbed his saddle and the two of them left for the real world outside.

Jon started to head for his horse.

"Goodbye, Jon," Aza said quietly.

Jon turned back towards her and bowed. "Goodbye, Lady Aza." He made to his horse and started strapping on the saddle.

"Good riddens."

Aza turned and it took all her strength not to slap Sansa hard across the face. Instead, Aza restrained herself to simply saying, "You certainly are your mother's daughter."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Sansa snapped.

"Jon is your brother, Sansa. Blood of your blood. Your mother thinks, at least, that she has a valid reason to hate him, but you certainly do not. The circumstances of Jon's birth are not his fault and should not treat him like feces on the bottom of your shoe because of that."

Sansa did not rebuttal.

Before walking away, Aza added, "I fear for you, Sansa. Going south will not teach you humility or compassion, which you sorely need to learn."

Sansa stuck her nose in the air and walked towards her carriage.

Absentmindedly, Aza stroked the locket around her neck that had been her mother's. When she realized what she was doing, she slipped it off of her neck.

Jon had already mounted his horse and was preparing to ride off.

"Jon!" Aza gathered her skirts and ran towards him. "You dropped something," she huffed for the benefit of the eavesdroppers. She held out her hand and placed the locket in Jon's palm.

"This was your mother's," Jon whispered when he realized the gift.

"I know. So think of me when you look at it, I just as I thought of her."

Jon opened the locket and plucked out the small portrait of Aza's mother. "Keep the portrait," he ordered. He took off his own locket and placed the portrait inside, next to the dark lock of hair, before he held it out to Aza.

"No, Jon, cannot take this," Aza said. "This is the only clue to your mother."

"And this was yours," Jon replied, referring to Aza's locket. "Keep our secrets safe until I see you again."

"When will that be?"

"I don't know."

"Jon!" Benjen Stark called, bringing the exchange to an end.

Jon placed his locket into Aza's hand before riding off to join his party.

Aza watched them leave until they were just a mass on the horizon. She looked down on the locket and stroked the two-headed wolf engraved on the locket's face.


	4. Fire Rising

Bran was getting paler. One could see the blue veins etched beneath his skin. This worried Aza, although Aza told herself it was just because Bran used to always be outside, but his skin hadn't seen the sun's rays in weeks.

Aza was stroking Bran's hair as Lady Catelyn made a seven-pointed representing the seven new gods to watch over Bran. That's all Catelyn did these days: prayed and cried. She hardly ate and Aza hadn't seen her sleep in her own bed in weeks.

The door opened and Aza turned to find Maester Luwin. He walked into the room, past Aza, and placed his hand on Bran's head.

Sighing, he said, "It's time we reviewed the accounts, my lady. You'll want to know how much this royal visit has cost us."

The old man's voice was frail, but wise. Aza often went to him for advice or stories. Luwin always gave her straight answers and truths, unlike Septa Mordane or Old Nan.

"Talk to Poole about it," Catelyn ordered sharply.

"Poole went south with Lord Stark, my lady," Luwin replied softly. "We need a new steward and there are several other appointments that require our immediate attention–"

"I don't care about appointments!" Catelyn yelled.

Aza would have volunteered to see to the matters, but she had no right and no experience.

"I'll make the appointments."Robb walked into the room, saving the situation. Luwin looked to him. "We'll talk about it first thing in the morning.

"Very good, my lord." Luwin turned to Catelyn. "My lady." And with that, he exited the room.

Aza could feel the tension running through the room. She stood up and excused herself, knowing that a talk was needed between mother and son.

Wandering down the hall, Aza ran her fingers along the stone walls. It always amazed her how warm the castle was, even when outside was biting cold.

Robb had once told her that Winterfell was built on a system of natural hot springs and that's what kept the stones warm. When Aza related this story to Jon, they decided to go looking for any of the springs that might still reach the surface.

And find one they did. Aza had recalled how Old Nan had said that the springs had magical properties. Both being ten years old at the time, Jon dared her to take a sip is she believed the stories.

Aza took the dare and stuck her hands in the puddle. The water was burning hot and had scalded her hands. Jon had carried Aza all the way to Maester Luwin's study. Luwin applied oils and creams to Aza's hands day after day, but the swelling, redness, and burning didn't go away.

Jon had found Aza locked away in her room, refusing to open the door, ashamed of her foolishness. She had let Jon in after some pleading on his part, however. He was holding a deer skin flask, asking Aza to drink its contents. Aza almost refused, believing it to be wine, until she noticed the ends of Jon's fingers. They were red, like hers, and Jon was biting down on is lower lip, hiding the pain, Aza knew he was in.

Taking the flask, Aza thanked Jon and drank.

The water was hot, but it didn't burn going down her throat. Aza gave the rest of the water to Jon. As he drank, Aza unwrapped the bandages on her hands. The skin was perfect. Even the scars she had received in all the swordplay were gone. Jon's fingers healed as well and the two of them promised not to tell anyone about the secret of the water.

It was the first of many secrets shared between the two of them.

"Ahhhh!"

The screaming pulled Aza out of her memories. She ran towards the sounds, which led her to the stables. The small, unused stable was up in flames. A line had formed to throw water into the fire. Everyone was concentrated on putting the fire out; no one was paying attention to the wailing woman. She wasn't helping the situation, so Aza approached her, hoping to calm her down.

"What's wrong?" Aza asked. "They're working to put the fire out."

"My baby!" the woman cried. "M'lady, my son is in the stable!"

Aza gasped. Searched around, hoping Robb had heard the screams as well and came to investigate, but he was nowhere in sight. All the other men were caring water buckets. Aza knew what she had to do.

She lift her dress over head so she was just in her training gear and headed for the stable entrance. Covering her back and head with her dress, she stepped into the burning stable.

"M'lady, no!" one of the men called out, but Aza was already inside.

"Hello? Are you in here?" Aza prayed that the woman wasn't a lunatic.

_Crash!_ Wooden beams licked with flames started falling all around her. Aza kept herself covered, but her sight was blurring from the thick smoke.

"Little boy, are you in here?"

Faint crying came from the far right corner. Aza found and scooped up the little boy into her arms and wrapped him in the thick fabric of her dress. Aza maneuvered around the falling debris with great difficulty.

Right when she was about to reach the exit, another beam fell diagonally, cutting off the way out. Creaking came from above and Aza knew the entire structure was about to crumble.

"Aza!"

Robb appeared in the doorway.

"Take the boy!" Aza ordered before shoving the screaming child into Robb's arms.

He disappeared and then reappeared, holding out his hand. "Climb over the beam. I'll help you."

Aza nodded and started climbing. More cracking came and Aza looked behind her. A stick poking out of a pile of hay caught her eye. Reaching for it, the roof started to collapse.

"Aza!" Robb pulled on her upper arm and yanked her out just as her fingers wrapped around the stick. Aza landed on top of Robb, who had landed on his back, and the two of them watched as the stable fell.

"You're a lunatic, you know that?" Robb huffed.

Aza didn't answer. Instead, she studied the stick in her hand.

It was a fire-head arrow.

"Robb," Aza sat up.

"What is it?"

She showed him the arrow. "The fire wasn't an accident."

"But who would–"

They both realized together, "Bran!"

They scrambled up and ran back towards Bran's room. The sight waiting for them was unbelievable.

A man with is throat ripped open lied dead on the floor. Bran's direwolf stood over Bran, her muzzle covered in blood and her eyes daring anyone to even try and approach. Catelyn was kneeling and the foot of the bed, leaning on a chest and blood dripping from her hands.

"Catelyn!" Aza ran to her, grabbing a cloth from the dresser. "Keep pressure on them," Aza pressed Catelyn's hands together with the cloth between them.

"What happened?" Robb demanded.

"An assassin," Catelyn answered. "He tried to kill Bran." She looked to her oldest son. "I told you someone tried to kill him and now they tried to do it again."

"Why would someone want to kill Bran?" Aza asked. "He's just a boy."

"I don't know," Catelyn stated, a fire rising in her eyes. "I just don't know."


End file.
